


of clipped wings

by BnessZ



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 23:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14366100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BnessZ/pseuds/BnessZ
Summary: "Even the stars above you are already dead"Or Akaashi is shackled by expectations but Bokuto teaches him to let go





	of clipped wings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~  
> I have not written fanfiction in years, so let's see how this goes.  
> I feel like i did not do these beautiful souls any justice, but i hope you enjoy!
> 
> Self harm is mentioned, so slight trigger warning

“Akaashi?”

    “Yes, Bokuto-san?”

    “Do you think I’m annoying?”

    “Yes, very.”

    “ _Akaashi.”_

“That’s why I spend so much time with you, obviously.”

    “You know, you look like Tetsu when you smirk like that.”

    “ _Tch._ Is there a point to this, Bokuto-san?”

    “....I just don’t want you to get tired of me.”

    “Don’t sell me short like that, Bokuto-san.”

    “But--”

    “You’re a much better person than I am, anyway.”

    “Akaashi, don’t say that. That’s not true.”

    “Hmm. Hey, Bokuto-san?”

    “Yes?”

    “Thank you.”

    “Me? For what?”

    “Being you.”

    “....Akaashi, your smile might just be my favorite thing.”

 

*

He makes it to his apartment door before realizing. Wind ruffles the paper in his left hand and he brings it back up to his face. The red numbers scream at Keiji, telling him everything he already knows.

_65/100_.

Keiji thinks he hears his name being called, but he can't bother with checking. The voice is familiar but the buzzing in his ears stops his brain from reaching recognition.

“Hey, what's wrong? Why are you standing outside? What is that?”

The test is still in his fingers. Frigid, cold, just like himself. The emptiness inside him expands.

_If you think we're going to support you while you play around--_

_You can do better--_

_Need we remind you who pays for these classes, your apartment--_

_Don't bring shame to this family--_

“It's not enough.”

It never is and the cliche just makes it worse. Everything around Keiji is hazy. Noises are muted. He barely registers the harsh rising and falling of his chest.

He can hardly make out the words spoken from next to him, “Hey, listen to me. You can hear me, right?”

_Ah, it’s Bokuto-san, of course._

“I'm right here and I think you are amazing.”

A hand on his shoulder, gentle. “....thanks.”

A sunny smile is directed at him in response. Something warm tries to settle in Keiji’s chest but pitters out just as fast.

A flame can't ignite without oxygen, afterall.

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

Keiji doesn't wait for an answer before slipping through the door. He can't let himself get fooled.

 

*

_(Hope is an empty promise._

 

_Everyone is too wrapped up in themselves to spare a glance. The only thing to catch one who falls is the ground. Water will devour you whole and never spit you up. The sun blinds any who dare reach for it, but rain leaves you shivering._

 

_You are nothing but a speck on an otherwise blank canvas._

 

_Alone._

 

_Even the stars “watching over you” are already dead._

 

_Simply put, it's a lesson you learned far too soon (and everyday afterwards):_

_The world doesn't care.)_

  


*

The bandages on his ribs pull when he stretches.

Wincing, Keiji  lets his arms fall back onto the table. He waits for Bokuto and Kuroo to show up, feeling the caffeine drain from his system. The bed back home is calling his name but anytime his eyes close, all Keiji can see is red numbers.

“Hey, Akaashi!” His name is comes from across the building, drawn out and not entirely correct. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make his stomach flutter.

Keiji lifts a hand to wave the two over. Bokuto studies him as they sit, eyes careful.

“Are you feeling better?”

Keiji startles. “What do you mean?”

“Yesterday, you--”

“Ah, no, I'm fine. Just tired.”

Bokuto doesn't look convinced but, before he can respond, Kuroo props his elbows on the table, grinning. “So, Kou, when are you going to get that tattoo?”

Immediately lighting up, Bokuto turns to Kuroo with a wide grin. “My appointment is Friday at five!”

“Tattoo?” Keiji tilts his head.

“Yeah, yeah! I'm going to get an owl on my arm. It's gonna be super badass. You're going with me, aren't you, Tetsu? You promised you would.”

“Ah,” with this, he turns to Keiji, smirk growing in smugness. “I have a lab to do that night.”

“Bro!” Bokuto puts a hand to his chest. “This is the ultimate betrayal.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You don't sound very sorry, Kuroo-san.” Keiji deadpans.

Kuroo muses and his face turns completely shit eating as he leans back. Keiji narrows his eyes, not liking where this is going. More often than not, Kuroo is scheming something and it rarely bodes well for Keiji. Last week, he somehow wrangled Keiji into going to a party. The night had ended with Bokuto puking in Keiji’s kitchen sink, Kurro asleep on his couch, and even Oikawa sobbing into his phone, _Iwa-chan I just miss you so much!_

“Man, I can't believe I have to go alone.” Bokuto slumps over the table, nearly knocking textbooks to the ground.

“I'm sure Akaashi could go with you, eh?”

Kuroo is still looking straight at Keiji, face so smug, it’s almost sneering. Keiji sends a sharp glare in response. If there’s one thing worse than Kuroo’s schemes, it’s his perceptiveness.

“Really?” Bokuto instantly perks up, eyes shining at him in a way that is impossible to refuse, prompting Keiji to sigh and nod. “Yes, this is gonna be so great!”

Keiji begins pulling at his fingers, looking off to the side pointedly at nothing. “Can we study now? If I don't get my grades up--” he cuts himself off.

“ _You're_ worried about grades? You're the smartest person I know.” Kuroo says.

“Yeah, Akaashi, if anything, I need you to help me. If I fail another math test, I won't be able to play in the next match.”

Keiji's hands shake and he grabs at his sides to hide it. Nails dig into fresh wounds and he bites his lower lip. The pain is dull, but calming, as his surroundings begin to blur.

“Akaashi? Hey, Akaashi!”

A hand on his shoulder snaps him back to reality. Golden eyes are boring into him, sharp in clarity. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I just spaced out. Sorry.” Keiji ignores the skeptical look from Kuroo and gently pries Bokuto’s hand away. He focuses to stop the shaking, evening his breaths. When Keiji speaks again, his voice is flat, dry, as normal as it gets. “And what do you mean by fail _another_?” Bokuto is still looking at him with a piercing gaze. “We worked on that last time.”

Groaning, Bokuto grabs at his hair. The action is half hearted, but Akaashi is just glad he's not staring him down anymore. Everyone thinks Bokuto is a simple minded, sports obsessed, moron. They don't realize that while numbers escape him, there are far too many things Bokuto understands, that he is sometimes too smart. People, himself included, often forget that academics are not the only measure of intelligence.

“You can't fix the hopeless.” Kuroo says, sniggering.

“Brooooo!”

Despite himself, Keiji can't quite fight the small smile on his face.

 

*

“You know, Akaashi, you're really pretty.”

Keiji looks up from his textbook. Eyes of gold are staring at him, a gentle smile on the man's lips. His hair is down today, silver strands tickling the sharp jawline. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up so Keiji can see his muscles.

He licks at dry lips. “You're not so bad yourself.”

“You think so?” Bokuto rubs the back of his neck, face pink. “Even with my hair like this?”

Especially _with your hair like that._

Keiji clears his throat, smirks. “You are looking a bit lackluster.”

“Akaashi!”

He covers a small laugh behind his hand which draws Bokuto’s attention, face falling serious.

“Why don't you laugh more? Why do you hide it?”

“There isn't much to laugh at,” he deadpans.

Bokuto's eyes narrow. “Is that a joke? It's so hard to tell when you're joking.”

“Guess you'll never know.”

           “Akaashi!” His name is butchered even worse this time. “Seriously though. At least don't hide it when you do laugh.”

Keiji has to look away from the sincerity in his eyes.

His heart beats faster, if just for a moment.

 

*

_(Hope is an empty promise._

 

_You, of all people, know this._

 

_If you try to get close to others, they tie you down they take advantage they control they undermine--_

 

_You disappoint them--_

 

_They leave._

 

_Something that is fractured only serves to break everything else.)_

 

*

Friday arrives in the blink of an eye.

His last class ends at two, so Keiji heads home to shower before Bokuto is out at four. He's just closing the door behind him when his phone buzzes. Pulling it out, he freezes at the caller ID: _Mom_.

He has three options here.

  1. answer the call, hope it's short, and get himself together before Bokuto comes over.
  2. ignore the call, text her that he's busy, and call her back later.
  3. ignore the call, turn off his phone, and never turn it on again.



3 is the best option, but also the only unrealistic one. 2 would only delay the inevitable and probably give her time to stew in anger.

And that's how he finds himself holding a big breath of air and hitting accept. It leaves through his nose a moment later. A poor attempt at calming his nerves. “Hello, mother.”

    “What's this I hear about a D grade?”

Closing his eyes, Keiji slides down his front door. She knows, of course. His mother must email every one of his professors for a weekly update. She always knows.  “I'm going to make it up on Monday. I've already--”

“How many times must we discuss this? Your dad and I would have never dared get that low a grade. How do you expect to become a CEO if you can't even pass your classes?”

He swallows thickly. “I'm passing, it's just--”

“Don't interrupt me!” Her voice is climbing in volume and octaves. “If you continue to fail, you'll be moving back home. Honestly, what are you doing over there? Obviously, something is distracting you. You didn't take up sports again, did you? Because we've _talked_ about this. And you clearly are not finding yourself a wife, either. You're twenty now, Keiji, it's time to start thinking about settling down.”

How many times has she told him this? How often must he be forced  to hear such words? Something _snaps_. “What if I don't want a wife?”

A pregnant pause. “Excuse me?”

A deep breath. He never raises his voice at his mother, meaning he won't be able to just brush this off.

“Keiji, what did you just say?”

He licks dry lips. “I said I don't want a wife.”

A sharp, cold laugh. “What are you saying?”

“Mom, I--”

“Don't you _dare_ tell me you don't plan on marrying.”

“I plan to marry,” he says before he can stop himself.

“What do you mean, then, Keiji?” Her voice is venom and she definitely knows.

_This is it. It's now or never._ Keiji can feel the tears forming in his eyes. “I'm gay, mother.”

A long silence on the other line. All he can hear is loud breathing, trying to even out and he's shaking, _shaking, crying, digging nails into his skin, hollow--_

“Who asked for a son like you? Honestly.” She sighs, sounding defeated, as if she's the victim. “Get over yourself, Keiji. Don't you dare bring shame to this family. Don't you dare drag our names in the dirt. I'll talk to your dad about this, give you time to really think it over, and if you don't change your mind, you'll be coming home.”

The line goes dead.

Sobs are wracking his body. _It hurts it hurts it hurts I didn't ask for this I didn't ask for you to--_

He pulls himself up on shaky legs and does the only thing he knows how to:

He creates music using metal as a bow along the bones of his ribs.

 

A knock sounds on the door just as he steps out of the bathroom.

“It's open,” Keiji says, just loud enough. He dumps his towel in the washing machine as the door swings open.

“Hey, Akaashi! You ready? I thought maybe we could leave now, and grab something to eat real quick beforehand. I've heard that tattoos can make you extra light headed on an empty stomach and--”

“Okay.” Keiji cuts in, turning on the wash. He is accustomed to Bokuto’s rambling and knows full well how bad it gets when nervous. “I can make us something here, if you want.”

Bokuto blinks at him. “Uh, sure.” He watches Keiji closely as he heads into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Your eyes are red.”

Hand wrapped around a carton of milk, Keiji stills. He hesitates, turning over possible ideas in his head. “My mother called, is all.” He says it into the fridge.

Bokuto’s mouth freezes into an O shape. In the year they've known each other, Keiji has never directly brought up his family. “And?”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Oh.” Bokuto says nothing for a while, watching Keiji take out a pot and noodles. “Is that why you were worried about your grades?”

“Yes.” He answers simply. This conversation is getting too person and he searches his brain for anything else he can say, any distraction he can provide.

Luckily, Bokuto seems to pick up in his discomfort. “Well, how about we study after my tattoo? We can come back here, or you could come over. Tooru--you remember Tooru, my roommate, the pysch major, right?--he’s surprisingly good at economics, so he could probably help you out.”

Busying himself with the food, Keiji takes his time to answer. He would really rather be alone, but being alone means being with his thoughts and being unsupervised. Being alone means there is nothing to stop his self destructive ways.

His ribs ache.

“Yeah, sure.”

When he serves the not so great mac and cheese, Bokuto gives him his signature grin and Keiji thinks the emptiness may be beginning to fill.

 

*

_(Hope is an empty promise._

 

_Nothing can fill you if you're littered in holes._

 

_If everything leaks out of you, you will always be left with nothing._

 

_Emptiness is all you will ever know._

 

_A shattered hourglass._

 

_There is no warmth or cold or contentment or--_

 

_Nothing._

 

_How many times must you hear it to realize that is all you will ever be?_

 

_Nothing._

 

_Empty._

 

_Alone._

 

Numb. _)_

 

*

“Ah, Aka-chan~! So nice to see you.”

Keiji nods once, “Oikawa-san.” Having far too many tiring memories of him, Keiji silently prays that they will stick to studying. Oikawa may be a decent enough person, but Keiji is too exhausted for his theartics.

Bokuto closes the door behind them, grabbing Oikawa’s attention. “Oohh, let me see, let me see!” He leaps up and rushes over.

“Don't touch--hey, be careful! I'm not allowed to remove the plastic yet.” Bokuto is smiling broadly, though his movements are stiff. “Isn't it awesome though? I am so in love with it.”

Oikawa nods enthusiastically. They yammer for a good while and Keiji makes himself at home in the living room. Even if Keiji hadn’t been here more times than he can count, the layout is the same as his own apartment. It’s almost too easy to get comfortable. He pulls out his work, laying it across the coffee table. Pulling out his phone last, he flinches when he sees a notification. Shaking fingers open the message.

_Mom 18:03_

_Your dad and I talked. You will be coming home next weekend to explain yourself._

Keiji grips the phone so tight, he's surprised the screen doesn't crack. He's staring at the message so hard, he doesn't notice the two men sitting next to him on the floor.

“Akaashi?”

Startling, Akaashi locks his phone and looks up. Golden eyes are looking at him again, soft with worry. He looks away just to get caught by brown eyes. These ones, critical.

Keiji’s ribs itch and burn and ache.

He swallows hard, brings his face back to it’s neutral default. “Bokuto, with your tattoo, you're not too cool to study now, are you?” He asks coyly.

It works.

“I mean, I _am_ pretty cool…”

Keiji smirks. “Cool enough to pass math?”

“Akaashi!”

He turns to Oikawa, ignoring the way his eyes seems to look right through him. “I hear you're good at economics?”

The eyes bore into him a moment longer before a horribly fake smile spreads over Oikawa’s face. “Yes, yes~ allow the great Oikawa Tooru-sama to each teach you the ways!”

 

Two hours later, Bokuto excuses himself to shower and Oikawa zeroes in on Keiji.

“You know he worries about you, right? Like, all the time.”

“I didn't realize.” He looks down at his hands, pulls at his fingers. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“That's not how I meant it.” Oikawa waves a hand through the air before threading his fingers under his chin, leaning forward. “What's holding you back?”

_His ribs thrum._

“I don't know what you mean, Oikawa-san.”

“Don't bullshit me. This isn’t high school.”

Keiji bites his lower lip. “It's nothing.”

“You really think you can fool me?” He says nothing so Oikawa sighs. “Look, I get the feeling you've got a lot going on in that pretty little head of yours, but let me tell you one thing.”

The tone in his voice is more serious than Keiji has ever heard it. It draws his eyes back to meet the sharp brown orbs.

“Kou-chan is a great guy and he wants to help you. _Let him_.”

(Silence blankets over them and when Bokuto comes back out and asks what's wrong, Oikawa slings an arm around Keiji and exclaims, “I'm just trying to figure out how someone can be so effortlessly beautiful!” and Bokuto flushes.)

 

*

It's Monday after his make up test, and Bokuto has been talking nonstop for the past ten minutes.

Normally, Keiji doesn't mind. He's gotten used fo it. Listening to his stories isn't so bad, especially because he rarely needs a response. Most of the time that Keiji bothers to say anything, it's a sarcastic remark that makes Bokuto exclaim his name in anguish before continuing to barrel through the words.

But today, his head and limbs are filled with cement.

“Boku--”

“--and then Kuroo had the gall to tell them it was me. I mean, can you believe it--”

“Bokuto--”

“Talk about ultimate betrayal. Next time--”

“Bokuto-san!” He doesn't shout but it is much louder than usual. “Please.”

Bokuto stills and looks at Keiji. He notes the younger boys hand rubbing at his temples, eyes pinched closed. “Oh. Sorry.” His voice is almost a whisper, an impressive feat. “Headache?”

“You could call it that.” A beat of hesitation. “I have to visit my parents this weekend.”

A breath of silence.

“I take it you don't want to?”

A sigh. “No.”

“Do--” he stops and Keiji peels his eyes open. Bokuto looks bashful, cheeks pink, hand on back of neck. “Do you want me--ahhh… this is probably too much.”

“What is it, Bokuto-san?”

“I was just thinking that, you know, if you were worried about going, I could… go with you?”

Keiji’s eyes widen and his mouth hangs open. Bokuto is immediately on the defense.

“Only if you want me to! Sorry, that was probably too forward! I mean, I know we're friends, and I consider you one of my best ones, but you probably--I mean--”

“Bokuto-san,” a smile is tugging at his lips. “I appreciate it. Really,” he tacks on at the older males disbelieving look. “But I don't want to put you through that. It--” he fishes for the right words. “--it won't be pretty.”

“I know. Which is why I want to go. I want to be there for you.”

A blush rises to Keiji's cheeks. “What about practice?”

A hand waves dismissively. “I can take off a weekend for you. I would just need to know by Thursday.”

The warmth tries to settle in his chest again, but there's still nothing to sustain it. It pitters out.

But it took longer to die than usual.

“I'll think about it,” is what he replies.

 

*

“I came out to my mother.”

    “And?”

    “It’s… I’m going home this weekend because we need to _discuss_ it. My mind is supposed to have changed by then.”

    “But you can’t change who you are.”

    “I realize that.”

    “........”

    “Bokuto-san?”

    “I’m definitely going with you.”

   

 

*

_(Hope is an empty promise._

 

_Your compass has no needle._

 

_The path under your feet is not your own. You were pushed onto it, all others burned for you before you had the chance to see them._

 

_Nothing you do has meaning. You're just grasping at threads._

 

_Your hands bleed._

 

_Why are you trying so hard?_

 

_You are headed nowhere._

 

_There is no direction in your steps._

 

_You're lost._

 

_Aimless.)_

 

*

There's a knock on the door on Friday at exactly 4:30pm.

It swings open a second later, revealing Bokuto with a smile and backpack. “I'm ready when you are!”

A bag is already slung over his shoulder but Keiji shifts his weight, playing with this fingers. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Bokuto answers, no hesitation. “I want to help you any way I can.”

Akaashi takes a deep breath. “Okay. There are some things you should know.”

“Shoot.”

“Well...As you know, I don't work and I live on my own. This is because I have a partial academic scholarship and my parents pay for the rest.” He pauses, turns his head away. “They have very high expectations and if I fail them, I'll have to move back in with them so they can 'watch over my studies’. I'm expected to take over the family business.” At this, Keiji scrunches up his nose.

“And do you want to do that?”

Keiji’s hands drop and he looks back at Bokuto. “What?”

“Take over the business. Do you want to do that?”

In all his life, no one has ever asked Keiji that question. It's always been _you will do this_ or _they're so lucky to have a smart son to take over_ or _you should be grateful, not everyone gets such an opportunity_ or--

“Akaashi?”

He shakes himself from the thoughts. His mouth is dry and for once, _just this one time,_ he wants to voice the truth but the words stick in his throat like peanut butter.

“I'll take that as a no.” Bokuto says. He walks over and grabs Keiji’s hands. The touch is soft despite his calloused hands. “What do you want to do, Akaashi?” His voice is low, gentle. So unlike Bokuto that it takes Keiji aback.

“I--” His voice cracks, his ribs burn.

“It's okay to want, Akaashi.”

His eyes prick, his heart pounds, his stomach is flipping over itself. The warmth in his chest flickers, trying desperately to not go out.

“Art.” He finally chokes out.

“Art?”

Keiji nods. “Specifically graphic design.”

“Then do that.”

Keiji lets out an airy laugh, choking on a sob. He thinks of all his sketchbooks and canvases, shoved in the corner of the closet, collecting dust. All he has from the past year are doodles around notes.

“I can't.”

A squeeze around his fingers. “You can.”

His fingers itch, wanting to dig into something, wanting to hold cold metal. He's being overwhelmed _by self hate by fear by expectations by crushing want and desire and--_

_Hope._

He collapses into sobs, head falling onto Bokuto’s chest. The taller man doesn't hesitate to wrap arms around Keiji, rubbing circles into his back.

“It's okay to want,” he whispers again. “It's okay to be you.”

“They--they’ll disown me.” He manages.

“I'm sure they love you in their own way.”

A startled laugh crawls out of his chest. “No, this will be the last straw,” he hiccups. The tears have stopped, replaced by a hoarse voice. “Everything else I am and have done has been wrong. If I abandon what they believe to be my life purpose…”

Lips are pressed into his black curls. “Worse comes to worse, you get a job and take out some loans. I'll help you.”

Keiji sniffles and pulls back. “Okay.” He can't believe he's even considering any of this. Standing up to his parents, telling them what he wants to do, _turning his back on everything he has known--_

But the smoldering gold eyes make him _want_.

 

*

His parents welcome them in and head up to their room.

Keiji only sighs, leading Bokuto to the guest room. It's on the ground floor, between the living room and bathroom. A futon is already laid out next to the bed, a single pillow and blanket for each. Keiji\s parents really went out of their way to have minimal contact with them. He isn’t surprised, but it doesn’t stop the stab he feels in his ribs.

Without thinking, Keiji begins changing. His mind is so occupied with his parents cold stares and his own nerves, that he all but forgets about his guest until--

“Akaashi,” his voice is almost inaudible, wavering. “What are those?”

Keiji looks over, sees Bokuto’s finger pointing at his torso. Realization hits him like a truck and he slips on his extra shirt in a hurry, breathing hitching.

“Nothing.”

“Akaashi…”

“Really, Bokuto-san, it's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

But Bokuto’s lips are pursed in that stubborn line and his eyebrows are creased. “Did you-- but why?”

What can he say? Denying it seems unlikely to work, given that this is an unfortunate example of Bokuto being too smart. But telling the truth is sure to push Bokuto away, to make him realize how truly messed up Keiji is.

“Don't worry about it, Bokuto-san.”

“I will always worry about you, Akaashi. Isn't that what friends are for?” His frown deepens. “Please, tell me.” After a heavy silence, he adds, “Keiji.”

No one has said his given name with that much affection in _years._

Keiji looks at him and everything shatters. He tells him everything. How his parents never raised a hand against him, but the choking expectations and rules were almost worse. How his anxiety sometimes leaves him unable to see, to hear, to breathe. How the only way to distract his mind from the turmoil is physical pain. How sometimes that's the only thing he can feel. How he picked the ribs because it was the easiest to hide. He tells Bokuto how people have used him, how people have tossed him aside, how people have taken what wasn't theirs. He tells him details he's worked years to forget about.

And Bokuto listens, stroking his cheek, rubbing his back, carding his hair.

Keiji falls asleep in Bokuto’s chest, wet with tears.

 

*

_(Hope is an empty promise._

 

_What could possibly make you feel more alive than_ pain _?)_

  


*

It's Saturday afternoon when they finally break.

Bokuto is helping Keiji's mother with dishes when his father comes up to him in the next room over.

“Keiji.”

He swallows hard, braces himself. “Yes, father?”

“Is it true that you're gay?”

“Yes.”

He clicks his tongue. “Haven't changed your mind then?”

“This isn't something you can change your mind on,” he says evenly, trying to not choke on anger and fear.

“And you failed a test?”

“For the last time, I didn’t fail, and I already brought it up to an B.”

Eyes narrow, chin tilts up. “How can you be so disgraceful?”

The water in the kitchen shuts off.

“I see nothing disgraceful about it.”

“You--” his father's face turns red. “We have done _so much_ for you and you can't even have the decency of giving us a family?”

_Anger panic anger self loathing anger exhaustion angerangeranger--_

“You guys are the ones who decided to have a child! I didn't _ask_ for you to force your ideals on me and make me follow in your footsteps.”

“Keiji, don't talk to your father that way.”

He turns to her, noting Bokuto standing behind her, entirely unsure of what to do.

Keiji has never been this angry before. Usually, he swallows down what his parents say in silence. Usually, he does as they ask and takes it out on himself.

But he is so tired.

    And Bokuto has taught him that showing emotion isn’t always as dangerous as he once believed.

“And allow myself to be talked to this way? That's not fair.”

“Fair?” His father barks out a laugh. “What's unfair is having an ungrateful, good for nothing, gay son who can't even pass a simple class.”

“I'm not fail--” he takes another big breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I'm done being your pawn. I'm dropping the business major.”

His voice is shaking and tears are in his eyes and every fibre of his being is telling him _shut up and run_ but he looks over at Bokuto's proud little grin and stands his ground.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” His dad yells. “No son of mine--”

“Then consider yourself sonless.”

“Keiji!” His mother shouts.

“Let's go, Bokuto-san.” He says.

He storms to the room, grabbing their bags, and then heads to the front door, never looking back, and only pausing when he doesn't hear Bokuto move.

“Bo--”

“For the record,” Bokuto says, voice low and dark. “Akaashi is amazing and if you would stop being blinded by your own broken dreams, you would realize how lucky you are to have him.”

 

*

Months later, when Keiji is renting out Kuroo’s extra room, working more and taking less classes, his ribs no longer ache.

“What do you think, Bo?” He asks, stretching in the chair. He's just completed a cover design after hours of being hunched over his laptop and tablet.

Bokuto walks over, but he doesn't look at the screen. He just stares at Keiji and smiles, kissing his cheek.  

“Beautiful.”

 

*

_(Hope is warm._

 

_It flutters in your chest, a strong flame against the dark._

 

_It feels very much the same as love._

 

_And so what of the world doesn't care, if the stars are dead, if you're broken?_

 

_He cares.)_

 

_(You think maybe now you can fly.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> a few things before you go
> 
> i wrote the line about the stars for an OC and then decided to do this
> 
> it's rushed. i know it is. sorry
> 
> i wanted to expand and have Kuroo and Oikawa in here so much more, but i would have never stopped if i'd gone for it
> 
> I'm thinking about making a longer piece and having this be a companion to it. Might help fill some gaps. Let me know what you think~
> 
> i left lots of things vague on purpose
> 
> i have lots of future ideas that should turn out better, considering that, again, i had different characters in mind when this one started
> 
> i don't have anyone to read this over for me so i apologize for any errors you may find
> 
> Feel free to check out my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/akaashiswhore)
> 
> Thank you again for reading and have a lovely day~


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